


Shadows in the Moonlight

by johnlock221blove



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlock221blove/pseuds/johnlock221blove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John struggles with his feelings towards Sherlock by looking through old memories with Sherlock before The Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anniversary

_Three years, two weeks from today._ John thought to himself.

He’d been doing pretty well up until a few weeks ago. He had three appointments with his psychologist but hadn’t felt like going. Mrs. Hudson started her housekeeping duties again because he didn’t feel like cleaning. He had lost ten pounds because he didn’t feel like eating. The only thing John felt like was sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes, Sherlock appeared. Every time he opened them, John wanted to disappear.

He had been doing so well because he had convinced himself that Sherlock would come back. He was content with the thought that Sherlock was just on a case in America and would be back as soon as he had solved it. Of course that was no where near the truth, but it worked for now. _Until_ now. John realized that it would be two weeks until the anniversary of Sherlock’s de..fall. He still couldn’t say the word. It made it too real, too final. Despite this, John had finally decided to accept it.

_He’s never coming back. Everything must run it’s course and Sherlock..Sherlock just ran out of time. It’s done and over and he’s not coming back. It was just an accident. A big mistake._

John felt a ball deep inside of his throat that started to crawl up towards his mouth. His eyes began to hurt and his face was hot. As the first tear rolled down his face, Mrs. Hudson flew through the door.

“Alright John, enough of this nonsense. You need to eat or I won’t be cleaning…”

John tried to wipe his tears so as not to alarm Mrs. Hudson, but it was too late.

“Oh deary, it’s okay to cry.”

Mrs. Hudson rushed over to John’s armchair and sat on the arm. She started rubbing John’s back in an attempt to comfort him.

“Oh, no Mrs. Hudson, I’m fine. Really. Fine.”

John cleared his throat and gave her a smile.

“But you’re not fine. You can try to tell me whatever you want, but you can’t hide your eyes. They tell me everything.”

“Oh really? And what exactly do they tell you?”

“Now don’t get snippy with me, John Watson. I’m your friend. I’m trying to help you.”

She gave him a sharp look that instantly caused him to look at his hands.

“Ah, yes. Sorry Mrs. Hudson. You were saying?”

“Your eyes tell me everything. You try to hide that you’re upset by smiling at everyone who walks through that door. But you’re always clutching your hands in a death grip and you’re starting to limp on that leg again. Your eyes are filled with longing and heartbreak and I’m sure you’ve stopped seeing that psychiatrist. Now maybe I’m just over thinking things, but I really worry about you, John. Are you sure I can’t help you? I mean, I know I’m not your cleaning lady or your maid, but I could tidy up a bit. Or do your laundry. Just something to help out around..”

“No, Mrs. Hudson,” John interrupted, “but thank you for the offer. It really is very kind of you and I’ve noticed that you’ve been cleaning anyways while I sleep, but I think time and space is all I need. Really. I appreciate you doing this but I need to do things on my own.”

“Well alright. I’m not going to force you. But this is my flat and I will be checking in every once in a while. If it gets out of control I will be cleaning. Don’t want any rats running around up here.”

“Yes. That’s fine. Completely fine.”

Mrs. Hudson removed her hand from John’s back and stood up from the chair. Just as she reached the door, John stopped her.

“You know, you sounded just like him back there. Deducing my situation and all. It was good. You did well.”

“Oh John. I’m no where near Sherlock. I’m just your landlady. But more importantly, a friend.”

She smiled at John and he smiled back. As she looked into his eyes, her smile faltered a bit, and she quickly left to go down the stairs. John’s smile instantly dissolved off his face.

 _She’s right._ John thought as he put his head into his hands. _S_ _he can see right through me._


	2. Flashbacks

John sat back in his chair and looked around. He looked on the mantel at the skull that Sherlock talked to before he had someone to talk back. He moved his gaze towards the kitchen where he closed his eyes and pictured Sherlock at his microscope, working on an experiment.

_“Sherlock, your phone has been going off for the past hour.”_

_“Oh really? Didn’t notice. Hand it to me.”_

_“Didn’t notice? Sherlock it’s in your coat pocket!”_

_“John. Phone. Thank you.”_

_“Jesus Sherlock! Did you throw that bloody phone of yours hard enough?! You probably broke it.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Oh. Myrcroft. What a surprise..”_

John chuckled as he came back to reality. At the time, he was pissed. But now it had become a great memory. Sherlock and Mycroft were such children sometimes. Most times. His eyes moved towards the fridge. He could still smell the formaldehyde radiating off all the heads that had passed on and off the second shelf. Mrs. Hudson almost had a heart attack once. Sherlock was convinced that nothing would ever bring Mrs. Hudson to an end, except perhaps his experiments. His eyes then wandered to the couch. John had spent many nights walking into the apartment to find Sherlock lying on the couch in a perfectly still and extremely beautiful position. He could see him now.

_John had come in from a date with Sarah. He opened the door quietly, assuming that Sherlock would be busy thinking and didn’t want to disturb him. As he opened the door he found Sherlock on the couch. He was wearing grey socks, black pants, and a black dress shirt. The shirt had four buttons undone, showing off his perfectly formed collarbone. His pale skin reflected magically off his black outfit. Sherlock always had impeccable style. His hands were in a prayer position with his chin resting softly on the tips of his fingers. His curly jet black locks tied the whole look together. He was absolutely stunning._

_“Are you done studying me yet? Judging from the time, your clothes, and the way you walked in here so quietly as not to wake me, probably because you were being respectful, but more likely because you don’t want to talk to me about it, tells me that you were on a date. But yet you just spent two minutes and thirty four seconds studying me. Why? Reconsidering what area interests you?”_

_“What? No. I was just..how did you..never mind. I’m going to bed now, Sherlock.”_

_“Ah, so you are reconsidering. Good night, John.”_

_“Now wait a second, Sher-“_

_“I said good night.”_

John immediately tore his mind out of that memory. It was too painful. That was the first time John really studied how beautiful Sherlock was. That night was the beginning of John’s confusing, and eventually heartbreak.


	3. Realization

_Sherlock is just a friend. He’s my best friend. That’s why I’m so attached. That’s why I feel this way towards him. That’s it. That’s all. There’s nothing more._

John had been fighting with himself over this subject since that night after his date with Sarah. Well at least that’s when he first noticed these thoughts. Sherlock had noticed it too.

_Of course he noticed. He notices everything. Every damn thing._

John realized that’s why it bothered him so much. The fact that Sherlock knew that John had feelings for him, yet the bastard just sat there and acted like it was just another one of his games.

“Did you think it was funny? Siting there on the couch that night, basically telling me you knew? Were you showing off like always? Or were you just making an arse of me? Cause you know that’s something that you love do, a LOT!”

John jumped out of his armchair, screaming at the couch, pretending like Sherlock was still there.

“I’m not as stupid as look, Sherlock. I know you were making an arse of me. Because what kind of person just hints that they know how I feel, and then says, ‘Oh, good night,’ before even letting me explain myself? And what kind of a person would just disappear and not tell his ‘best friend’ how he really feels? Only one person in the world would do that. The most self absorbed, stupid, idiot I have ever met! Just another case solved by the great Sherlock Holmes!”

At those last words, John fell on his knees in front of the couch, and rested his head directly where Sherlock’s lap would have been. He closed his eyes and his tears finally broke through the dam of his better judgement. They came rushing out into the imaginary lap of John’s beloved best friend. He could almost feel Sherlock’s cold hands running through his hair, comforting him.

“Oh stop. Please. Just…stop…”

John whispered the last word as he tried to push the living memory of Sherlock out of his mind. He had never lifted his head off the couch or opened his eyes, because in all reality, he didn’t want the memory to go away. He didn’t want to forget what happened that night.

_John had gone up to his bedroom, trying to figure out what exactly happened a few minutes ago downstairs. Had he actually felt some sort of affection towards Sherlock? He had studied him rather intensely, and that wasn’t quite normal. But then again nothing ever was quite normal with Sherlock. The only way that John was going to be able to somewhat clear this up was to go back down and talk to him._

_John ran down the stairs and threw open Sherlock’s door. He pushed his way through, to find Sherlock in the exact same position as when John had left._

_“I thought you were going to bed?”_

_Sherlock’s eyes flew open._

_“I was. But then I decided to think.”_

_“Oh really? And what exactly are you thinking about Sherlock? Are you thinking about me?”_

_“ Don’t be ridiculous John. I’m a married man. I do, however, appreciate the offer.”_

_With a smile and a wink, Sherlock jumped off the couch and moved into the kitchen and grabbed a kettle._

_“Would you like a cup of tea? Tea leaves help calm the nerves. Don’t you agree?”_

_“You bloody bastard! You think that you can just sit there and assume that I, how did you put it? Oh yes, ‘Reconsidered what area interests me,’ and then go on to tell me that you’re married to your work and make me a cup of tea?! Unbelievable. You know, I thought you were better than this, Sherlock Holmes.”_

_“Perhaps you should have deduced better.”_

_“Yeah. Perhaps I should have.”_

_“I simply observed, and drew a conclusion. That’s what I do, John. That’s what I always do! It never changes and it never will! I don’t have feelings, I wasn’t meant to have feelings, and I will never have feelings. So you can stop pretending like I possess any semblance of your emotional capacities and just go to bed, John! This discussion is over.”_

_John’s gaze dropped from Sherlock’s eyes to the floor. Sherlock had ripped John’s heart out of his chest and was fully aware that he had done so. John wondered if Sherlock was looking guilty, but he wasn’t about to lift his gaze and check._

_The whistle of the tea kettle broke the silence that lingered between the two men. John looked up and inadvertently met Sherlock’s eyes again. They were piercingly blue. The moonlight that was coming through the window hit his eyes just right, and he thought he saw a single flicker of confusion pass across his face. Sherlock immediately dropped his gaze and walked over to pour tea._

_John looked back down at the floor and started processing what he had seen. Suddenly he felt a cold, firm hand under his chin. That hand traced its way up his chin, past his jawline and into John’s hair. Sherlock kissed John’s forehead and placed the cup of tea in John’s hand._

_“Good night, John.”_

_And without another word, Sherlock went straight to his bedroom. John looked dumbfounded into the cup of tea in his hand, and after he was finally able to shake himself out of the trance he felt locked in, he went back to his room. They both spent the night alone, silently staring off into the moonlight._


	4. Resolution

John couldn’t keep the tears from flowing. He could still feel Sherlock’s hand stroking his hair. John slowly reached into his left pocket and felt something sharp. Earlier that day he had broken the mirror in the bathroom.

_He couldn’t look at the image anymore. His wrinkles had gotten deeper and his eyes had sunk into his face. He punched right through the mirror. The shards scattered all over the floor. The reflection of every angle in the bathroom reflected off of the broken glass. It was actually quite beautiful. John had given his gun to Mrs. Hudson so he could resist temptations, but oh was that glass tempting. It was so beautiful. Too beautiful. John picked up a long shard and stared into it. The light bounced off the piece of glass onto his vulnerable skin. Slowly, he moved the shard just above the pale skin of his wrist. His blood pulsed beneath it. He could feel the glass pulling itself towards his arm with an almost magnetic force. It made John shudder. He closed his eyes and started to press down. Just as he was about to break skin, the image of blood spilling out of Sherlock’s body onto the pavement, flashed across his mind, forcing his eyes open. He could have sworn he heard Sherlock in his head._

Not today John, _said the voice_ , put it down. Walk away.

_John slowly reached into his pocket, and placed the shard there._

This is the second time that he had felt that perfectly shaped shard of glass in his hand. He pulled it out and stared at the reflection yet again. His wrinkles looked deeper and his eyes, now sunken into his face, had turned red.

_I’m a bloody mess_ , he thought, looking at the fist that had splintered the center of the mirror.

He turned his back towards the door and leaned his right side against the couch. He placed the glass against his wrist and felt the blood pulse again. He was a doctor. He knew what he was doing. He went through the process in his head the last time he held the shard of glass.

_If I cut across, Mrs. Hudson could possibly get here in time for an EMT to stitch me up. That may be a safe bet in case I change my mind, ‘cause I could also just stich myself. But if I cut right into the artery wall and straight up my arm..well..it would be a done deal._

The tears came flowing out again. He was empty. There was nothing for him here. There was no case worth solving, no girl with loving, and no person alive who possibly bring back or replace his Sherlock. He had made up his mind.

_Vertical it is._

John grabbed the only picture he had of Sherlock off of the coffee table. He placed it in front of him so that it would be the last thing he saw. He took the piece of the mirror and looked at himself one more time. He studied his sagging wrinkles, his bloodshot eyes, his mouth, his hair, and tried to justify his situation by the misery the image of his body told him that he was experiencing. He closed his eyes one more time, silently hoping that Sherlock’s voice would stop him once again. He waited ten seconds, but heard nothing. The decision had been made. He moved the glass over his wrist, pressed down, and unintentionally opened his eyes at the surprisingly cold sensation against his skin.

There he was. Sherlock was in the mirror, looking down at John.

“No. No no no. You are not here. You are not real. I am doing this, Sherlock, and you are not stopping me. I-I can’t..” his voice broke by the tears streaming from his eyes. “I **won’t** live without you. Not anymore.”

“That won’t be necessary, John.”

“Oh so you’re speaking now too? God, I really am going cr-crazy..”

John was still sitting in the same position, staring into the shard of glass that was testing the strength of his skin. Sherlock was struggling to keep his composure. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge that this was Sherlock, a hallucination perhaps, but nothing more.

“John..”

“No. Just go away! You’re not real. God, you’re not real. I-I’m stopping this right now. This ends right here! R-right. Now.”

John pressed down, twisting the shard away from his line of vision. The blood began to seep out just above his hand.

“John! It’s me! Stop this right now! John! Look at me!”

He grabbed John’s shoulders and tried to spin him around.

“I’m real, John! For God’s sake, stop this idiocy and look!”

John’s frantic gaze collided with Sherlock’s face. Swearing, he threw the glass across the room, where it hit the mantel and shattered. He pulled his knees up into his chest, cradled his wrist, and buried his head in his arms. His frantic sobs could be heard by any person walking by 221B Bakers Street.

Sherlock slowly knelt down in front of John. He placed his hands on John’s knees, pushing them away from his face. Sherlock quietly examined John’s wrist. There was a substantial amount of blood but no signs of serious nerve damage.

“Sherlock?”

John whispered, wincing as Sherlock pulled a bandage around his wrist. John had forgotten where they kept the first aid kit. Clearly Sherlock hadn’t. John closed his eyes as Sherlock finished wrapping the wound. He felt a firm hand materialize under his chin, warmer than he remembered. The hand traced its way up his chin, past his jawline, and into his hair.

“What are you..what are you doing?”

John was still shallow from all the sobbing. The tears followed freely down his cheeks. Sherlock’s left hand was still in John’s hair, the other supporting the bandaged wrist.

“What I should have done a long time ago.”

Sherlock gently placed a kiss on John’s lips. Sherlock pulled away and John opened his eyes. The moonlight shone through the window and lit up Sherlock’s eyes, turning them a vibrant, electric blue. This time, Sherlock let John look. And in that moment, John felt somewhere within him that what he had thought before was true. There was no case worth solving, no girl worth loving, and no person alive who could possibly replace his Sherlock. And now, there didn’t need to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic on this blog! Hope you enjoy it!


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